


But Who's Watching The Watchers?

by TeddyRadiator



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-13
Updated: 2016-08-13
Packaged: 2018-08-08 10:42:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7754566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TeddyRadiator/pseuds/TeddyRadiator
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the 2014 Taboo Tuesday Challenge - Taboo Tuesday –  ecouteurism ( arousal by listening to others having sex ), coprolalia (dirty talk), voyeurism, being pinned down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	But Who's Watching The Watchers?

**Author's Note:**

> Special thanks to Stgulik for her always sterling beta work. You don't read a Teddy Radiator fic until Stgulik has shined it up to a sparkly polish. These characters (with the exception of the original characters) belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers. No money has been made from this work of fanfiction.

In the sleazy red light district located in a dogleg alley off of Knockturn, two silent, black-clad shapes entered a narrow passage between derelict buildings. They paused at the entrance of a house of assignation that looked even more rundown than the Shrieking Shack, and with about as much charm.

Severus Snape turned and raised a finger to his lips. His partner rolled her eyes, repressing the urge to tell him where he could stuff that particular finger. They might have only been assigned as partners for the past six months, but Hermione Granger had been an Auror for the past eight years, and a damn good one, thank you.

They were there to locate a wizard known only as Parnall. Their mission: track him, find him, and send in the cavalry. The ground floor of the house was empty; Parnall was supposed to have the place to himself that night. He was, after all, a wizard with plenty of hooky Galleons and zero scruples in the making of said Galleons; he could hire out the entire district of Fizic Alley for an evening with the change in his pockets if he was of a mind. In any case, he was in for a serious dose of _coitus interruptus_ , if Hermione and Snape had anything to do with it.

As they started up the stairs, Snape leaned down against Hermione, and a soft puff of air tickled her ear. “If chummy’s in here, he’s libel to hex first and ask questions later. I’d feel better if you went in behind me.”

The sound of his voice vibrated through his chest and against her shoulder. She suppressed a delicious shudder. After all these years, Snape’s voice still held the power to hit her right between the eyes—and, she had to admit, between the thighs as well, ever since a particularly aggressive lesson during sixth year DADA class.

They were creeping down a narrow hall when they heard the first sounds. It was the music of sex: heavy breathing, soft, masculine words of encouragement, a mewling cry of a woman, a ragged moan. The unmistakable soundtrack of pleasure.

At the end of the corridor, two doors stood ajar. A sea blue-tinted light spilled across the floor from the door on the right, making the room look as if it were underwater. It was from this room the sound emanated. The opposite room was dark. Snape nodded toward that one, and they slipped into it. From there, they had the perfect vantage point to see across the hall to the source of those disconcerting sounds.

Snape, she noticed wryly, was no shrinking violet when it came to voyeurism. He boldly peered through the door, and as she watched, his expression changed from curious to confused. He silently cast several Glamour Detection spells, finishing with _Osquivosveres_ , the spell to detect Polyjuice. Shaking his head, he turned back to her and mouthed, _“It’s not Parnall. Neither of them.”_

Her first thought was, _Great. Our tracking ability isn’t worth a damn._ Then curiosity got the better of her, and she wondered, If not Parnall, then who had rented this whole house? She squeezed between him and the door to have a look for herself. At the sight before her, her last conscious thought was, _Oh, who cares?_

The room’s bluish light was soft and hazy within; the room was beautifully furnished in the finest furniture, the plushest carpets. A massive mahogany bed graced the right side of the room, its velvet coverlet spilling down where it had been roughly cast aside.

And on the bed, a couple lay. The wizard was tall, with long black hair and pale skin. Pinned beneath him was a younger witch, maybe twenty, with honey-coloured hair and golden, glowing skin.

There was no other word for what he was doing. The wizard was worshipping her.

The witch lay beneath him as he languidly covered her body in slow, suckling kisses, as if taking a bite of the ripest, sweetest fruit. She writhed in pleasure and anticipation as he nuzzled her tight nipples, as he bit and nipped and flicked at them with his tongue. He held her arms over her head, but it was a token bondage; the girl wasn’t going anywhere, and Hermione couldn’t blame her.

He released her wrists and lowered himself inch by inch, placing his ardent kisses down her flat belly, toward the patch of hair between her thighs. He slid his large hands down the sides of her ribs, and she actually shuddered as she opened her legs for him. Her hands tangled in his silky black hair. He ran his tongue up the seam of the witch’s cleft, and she arched from the bed as if electrified. “Oh, my beauty,” he crooned, parting her labia with long, adroit fingers, “you taste like melting sugar.”

As if to prove his point, he dove between her thighs with a muffled moan of pleasure, and the witch keened helplessly. He held her open with the fingers of one hand, while he teased and tormented her clit with his long, fluttering tongue. He paused in his ministrations and glanced up at the moaning, thrashing woman. As his fingers continued their relentless dance over her clit, he favoured her with a dazzling smile of pure delight. Hermione felt her throat tighten. No man she’d ever known had looked at her that way, in bed or out.

The wizard pushed himself off the bed and stood looking down at his lover, his cock large and exquisitely hard, jutting from his slender body. She reached for him frantically, making pleading, inarticulate sounds of need. He laughed in exhilaration as he lowered himself onto her, and plunged into her in one smooth motion. They cried out together at the pleasure of it. “You’re close, aren’t you, my love? Are you going to come for me?” he urged, his voice deliciously deep and warm. “Come for me, that’s my good girl.”

Hermione swallowed, hard, and blinked; she had stared for so long her eyes were burning. Beside her, Snape, too, was stone-still. Hermione glanced up at him. He was also watching the couple on the bed, his eyes heavy-lidded, his lips parted. As if he felt her looking at him, he slowly turned his head toward her. His expression didn’t change, but she had the feeling his heart was pounding with the same jungle rhythm as her own. Large, dark eyes met hers, and in them she saw something so deep, so all-encompassing and foreign it was as if she was looking at Severus Snape for the first time. Hermione licked her dry lips, and his eyes widened.

Just then, the woman in the next room cried out her orgasm, and they both gasped as if they felt it too. Suddenly, Hermione’s entire body flushed in primal, blazing desire. Something snapped; perhaps it was the uncrossable line between her and Snape since he’d become her partner six months before. It may have even tethered them together since that DADA class she’d never forgotten, stretched and fraying for a lot longer than either would admit. The tenuous link between professionalism and latent attraction crumbled into dust, and Hermione grabbed his cloak. Even as he had the admirable presence of mind to cast a _Muffliato_ around them, Hermione was pulling him deeper inside the dark room.

They fell hard against a wall, the increasingly savage grunts and moans and cries in the next room fueling their lust. Snape pulled her arms over her head, stretching her until she arched her breasts against his chest. With her wrists clamped in his large hands, he captured her lips in a searing kiss full of hungry desire and intensely, intoxicatingly masculine intent. Hermione fought to free her arms, to pull him closer, to drown against the undertow of his drugging, brain-melting kisses.

When he released her wrists, her hands rasped against his stubbled jaw, and he seemed to sigh into her; and his punishing mouth softened, his tongue in her mouth no longer invading but entreating. His arms stole around her and he drank the moan from her open mouth as if it was nourishment to be devoured. She ground her hips against his, and she could feel the heat from his cock through his clothing. It felt rock hard and huge and she wanted to see it more than she wanted to take her next breath.

Snape slipped his hands beneath her shirt, caressing her bare flesh. He unclasped her bra like a professional, and then, oh, gods, then his large warm hands were cupping her breasts. She whimpered helplessly at the sheer erotic, dirty wrongness of her former teacher and current partner rolling her nipples between his long, dexterous fingers, because it felt like the rightest thing in the world at that moment.

A wild thought lanced into her mind: _Severus Snape is going to fuck me_. It was like hearing the first Christmas carol of the season, seeing the first flower of spring, watching the full moon rise to shining silver in the sky. It was a thrilling epiphany of pleasure and desire and madness, and Hermione nearly swooned at the power of it.

Snape broke the kiss, and his hands stilled. Hermione rasped in frustration, “Don’t stop, please.”

They were panting like runners, and Snape, his mouth red and swollen from their kisses, grinned the wicked, crooked smile of a dodgy crocodile. It turned her hips to sponge. “Do you really want this, Granger? Do you want me to fuck you, right here, right now?”

“Yes, dammit,” she moaned, reaching upward, trying to kiss that delicious, mobile mouth of his, but he pulled back again, causing her to whimper.

“Be sure. Because once we start, I don’t think I could stop fucking you even if you hexed me.”

“I’m going to fucking hex you if you don’t, Snape!”

Snape spelled away her clothes, and ran his callused thumbs around her areoles, gauging her reaction, teasing her relentlessly. His dark head descended, and that wicked mouth closed over a tight, aching nipple, even as his hand slid between her trembling thighs. He moaned against her as his fingers swirled in her shamefully wet folds. Hermione braided her hands in his hair as he dropped to his knees.

Looking up at her with those incredible eyes, he whispered, “I’m almost ashamed to admit how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

With the few remaining brain cells dedicated to thinking, Hermione managed to whisper, “Wanted to do what?”

“This.”

He buried his incredible nose between her thighs, and she actually snarled with the delicious pleasure of it.

“How… long?” she panted, not really caring. His long tongue found her ripe, distended clit, and curled around it as if taking ownership. The last of her higher reasoning processes disintegrated down to one tiny scrap of flesh, and the mouth currently suckling it, the fingers easing in and out of her slick cunt, and the man attached to them.

He released her with a sucking ‘pop’, leaving her cursing. With his fingers still dancing over her clit, he rose to his feet, his mouth glistening. He caught her bottom lip in his teeth, and licked it with decadent, lascivious brutality. “Since _that_ day. You know the one. In my class. I’ve wanted to fuck you since then.”

“Oh gods,” she whimpered, and she wantonly licked her own juices from his mouth while he unbuckled his trousers. She blindly groped for his cock, and he growled deep in his chest as her hand closed over it. It was blisteringly hot, and hard, and felt like a pole. It was huge; it would rip her in half.

She couldn’t wait.

“I’m going to fuck you now, Hermione,” he groaned, between her feverish kisses.

“Yes, gods, please yes,” she babbled, as he spun her around to face the dusty wall.

“The next time it will be in a bed, so I can watch your pretty face, but this time─” He grabbed her wrists and forced her hands flat against the wall. He kicked her legs further apart. “This time I want to make you scream so loudly they hear you all over this alley.”

He slammed into her with the force of a hammer. Hermione did scream and cry, and beg and buckle, and in between, she fucked him like a first-class whore and a fallen angel and he responded with the passionate savagery of a redeemed demon. Snape was no one’s oil painting, that much was true, but oh, gods, could he fuck.

His hips rolled as he churned inside her, hitting every sweet spot within. One arm held her, the other played with her clit, encircling and flicking it. “Play with those marvelous tits,” he panted roughly. “Make them nice and hard.”

“Yes, sir,” she moaned, and he laughed, a nasty, dark laugh that nearly took her over the edge.

“Naughty girl, fucking her dirty professor,” he drawled, his voice breathless and exhilarated. “But that’s why you love it, isn’t it? So forbidden. So bad.” His voice was nothing but a low, gasping purr in her ears. “You’re going to come for me, aren’t you? You’re going to come like the sweet little bitch in heat you are. That’s right. Come on, little girl, come for teacher…”

The orgasm blasted through her body like a pulsing, burning shockwave, pounding into her over and over, until she was howling with each breath. From deep within her pleasure-drenched mind she heard broken, ragged cries and realised they were her own. Her knees gave, but Snape held her up, crooning softly as she fell back against him. She felt the soft, warm wool of his coat against her back, the swift, heavy beat of his heart.

Snape turned her boneless body around to face him, covering her face with frantic, wild kisses. “That was beautiful, Granger,” he murmured, holding her close, rocking her in his arms. “You gorgeous, delicious thing.” He lifted her as if she weighed no more than a loaf of bread. Using the wall to brace her, he whispered, “Wrap your legs around my waist.”

This time he entered her slowly, his eyes locked on hers. Hermione watched in fascination as she slid down on his length. She tightened her walls around him, and he whispered, “Ohhhhh…” His eyes fluttered closed. Gone was his usual indifference; looking into his angular face, his blissful expression, Hermione knew she was seeing the man few had ever been lucky enough to see, and _she had made it happen_. She awarded him with a slow, languorous kiss. As their mouths fused together, his hips curled upward toward hers in a slow, ride, his movements deep, generous and sensual. Hermione clutched at him each time he withdrew, and his expression gradually changed from the soft, drugged look of pleasure to a helpless, ravenous countenance of _now_.

He wrapped his long arms around her waist and pounded into her, his hips snapping like an impatient whip. She could feel his breath, ragged and hot against her ear as his thrusts grew lightning fast, and she gave in to it, unable to keep up, unable to think or plead or articulate anything. His rhythm grew erratic and out of control, and with a hoarse, guttural shout of release, he came spectacularly, his come hot and heavy inside her. Hermione could actually felt his glorious cock pulsing as he emptied himself into her.

Gradually, he slowed, lowering her feet to the floor gently. Now that their fever had broken, he seemed a little unsure. Hermione sighed; she hoped he wasn’t one of those wizards who gave themselves over to fantastic sex, then acted as if they’d just accidentally robbed a bank and didn’t know what to do with the money.

With the long practice of two people who worked together hand in glove, he helped her retrieve her clothing, and even re-hooked her bra and adjusted the straps. As he turned to cancel all the ward spells, she caught his hand, and his surprise and pleasure were obvious as she reached up to kiss him. His lips were warm, and she could still detect the faint, lingering taste of her body. His mouth moved against hers slowly, lazily, like a sleepy lion after a very nice piece of filet mignon.

When she pulled away, he looked down at her with a ghost of a smile playing on his lips. “I take it you enjoyed that?”

“The fact that you had to ask would indicate that I didn’t make my opinions vocal enough,” she replied primly. He snorted through his impressive nose. “And stop whinnying. You know very well I enjoyed it as much or more than you. You’re just trawling for compliments.”

He flushed a little, which struck Hermione as positively adorable, though she valued her life too much to ever voice that aloud. Instead, she linked her hands behind his neck and pressed her forehead to his. “Now, I seem to recall you saying there would be a next time,” she said. “I take it that still stands?”

He started slightly, then gave her another one of those sly, resolve-melting smiles. His long fingers glided over her arms in a feather-like caress, making her shiver. “I think that could be arranged satisfactorily for both parties.”

“Good.” She kissed his nose, then checked her watch. “Well, we’ve got a good two hours before the end of shift. Shall we give locating Parnall another try, or,” she added, with a mischievous grin of her own, “see if our friends next door can provide some more inspiration?”


End file.
